


Indenture

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: WinterIron Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gladiators, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master & Servant, Mechanic Tony Stark, Oral Sex, Virgin Tony Stark, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: See the galaxy on a two year work-contract. Well, Tony Stark figures, can’t be worse than home. When he ends up on Sakaar, in the hands of a gladiatorial team, it might be his mechanical skills they’re interested in… or it might be his virginity.Tisfan & 27dragons WinterIron bingo square O3 - mechanicTisfan's Tony Stark Bingo - k5: Kink - Virgin





	Indenture

**Author's Note:**

> Now with art from Monobuu

The holographs in the space port flickered the outgoing fares and destinations. He knew exactly how many credits he had left -- a novelty in and of itself, but not a particularly good one. If he put all his credits together, and presented it to a ship captain, he would arrive at his destination, utterly destitute. With no place to live, no contacts that he dared to impose on, and without a local sponsor. Under those circumstances, he’d be lucky if he wasn’t dead in a gutter in a week’s time.

All he wanted to do was _get away_.

But that didn’t mean he needed to be stupid about it.

“See the galaxy,” one holo advertised, “on an indentured ticket.”

Small print showed that he could sign himself up for a job, selected after a series of tests and aptitude exams, for free passage to any of a list of destinations. Tony thumbed down the list -- there it was. _Malibu_. A two year contract, food and housing and work… and he could get to Malibu with his nest egg intact.

And he had skills aplenty to offer. He glanced over his shoulder -- ridiculous; he wouldn’t be missed until tomorrow at the earliest -- and then poked at the _More Information_ icon on the holo.

The display swirled into an infodump, and he scanned it quickly, memorizing the address and route to the testing office. At the bottom, a cheerfully bright line advised him to make his appointment now. He reached out, and then hesitated, just short of letting the holo scan his thumbprint. No. Who knew what kind of strings his father would pull to force Tony home, if he was able to find out where Tony was? He pulled a stylus from his pocket instead and summoned a keyboard, tapping in the name: Tony Edwards.

That was innocuous enough, he thought. And even if they _did_ guess what name he was travelling under, there had to be thousands, maybe even _millions_ of Tony Edwards in the galaxy.

He tapped the _Register_ button, and the screen flashed his appointment time -- only an hour away. Good. Just enough time to mildly injure his thumb so they’d have to accept a secondary contract signature. He glanced down the street and then looked back at the holo, which had gone back to its colorful enticements.

He was leaving. Today.

He made it to the testing facility, an engine burn obscuring half of his thumbprint. The waiting room was packed with hopefuls, aliens and human alike. A scruffy raccoon, talking with a tiny, moving twig in a pot, was sitting next to the only empty seat in the place, and he glared at Tony with intelligent, black eyes. “Tell ya what, Groot,” he said to the potted creature, “the neighborhood’s going to hell. Look at all these humies.”

Tony didn’t have to endure the raccoon for much longer; Rocket was called back for testing in less than twenty minutes of waiting. The sapling waved at Tony over Rocket’s shoulder.

Time passed. The holos were mostly full of advertisements for different indentured positions -- cleaning and catering on passenger cruisers, healers and nurses, street cleaners on a wide variety of urban planetary systems. Tony wasn’t a bad student, even for subjects that didn’t interest him, but he hadn’t even heard of half of these systems. Outside the Core, probably.

“Edwards?”

“That’s me,” Tony said, gathering his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood.  

“Thank you, Mr. Edwards, if you’ll come with me, we apologize for the wait, there’s been quite a crush recently, people looking to start over in a new life, which is just what we offer, and some trade skills in the meanwhile,” the woman said. “All of our positions come with a pressure-free offer; we’re simply interested in discovering where your unique skill set will be most useful. All indenture contracts are held by a bondsman; your bondsman is your contact to People Placements. All of your basic health needs will be provided, shelter, food, medical care, adequate rest and relaxation. If you experience any problems with these necessities, your bondsman will direct you to our People Resources department and investigate your complaint. Here you are. While you wait to see your health and physical assessment coordinator, please start this test series which will question you on a number of aptitude and skill packages.”

The room was full of more holo advertisements, each cheerfully talking about his opportunities. She waved them away with a single swipe. “Hard to concentrate, isn’t it, Mr. Edwards, when they keep blinking at you. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, and waited until she’d left the room, closing the door behind her, before sitting at the small desk and waving at the test to start it.

Most of it was laughably easy. There were a few subjects that he stumbled over -- obviously, he wasn’t fit to be a cook, after the way the test had buzzed irritably after only a handful of guessed answers in that subject. But once the program had veered into technical aptitudes, Tony was answering questions faster than the terminal’s limited processors could keep up.

It was actually sort of fun, in a childish way, and Tony found himself grinning as he swiped through the questions, daring them to try to trip him up.

He wasn’t sure how long the test went on, and then there was a knock at the door. “If you’re quite finished, Mr. Edwards, your test results have been stirring up interest. I’m to escort you to get your physical right away. The planetary representative for Sakaar is expressing an interest in your skills, but the only ship for that system leaves in less than two hours.”

Sakaar was a name Tony had heard -- a destination planet for gamblers and gamers where the chief draw was a massive system of gladiatorial games. Though if they wanted him based on his test scores, obviously, he wouldn’t be working in the pits. Repairing or programming displays and scoring machines was more likely.

He could think of worse things to be doing for two years. And more importantly, it got him off the planet quickly. He picked up his bag and opened the door. “Sure, sounds fun,” he said. “Lead the way.”

“I’ll ask some basic questions as we walk, Mr. Edwards,” she said, “just formality. Speak your answers, they’ll be recorded. Are you fully immunized? Family history of heart failure? Any food or medicine allergies that you are aware of--” She continued to fire questions at him as fast as he could answer them, including “What is your sexual history, please?”

Tony nearly stumbled over his feet at that one. “Uh. None. You don’t have to worry about any diseases or anything here.”

“Thank you,” she said, finishing up. “Walk through here, lift your arms over your head. The medical scanner will give you a brief physical, and then the Bondsman from Sakaar would like to speak with you.”

The scanner buzzed, flashing lights at him and spritzing him with an odd smelling mist before spitting out a series of hard light records with his vitals and statistics on it. There was a small red dot flashing at the corner of the display. “Very good. You’re healthy and good for travel. Miss-- Miss Valkyrie,” she sighed.

“What? I’m not piloting the ship,” the woman on the far side of the room said.

“We asked you not to indulge while--”

“This is not _indulging_ ,” Valkyrie said, getting up and rolling across the room with the practiced gait of the perpetually inebriated. “I have not yet begun to defile myself. You Edwards?”

“That’s me,” Tony agreed warily. Howard’s drinking had been half -- well, maybe more like 42% -- of the reason he’d left in the first place.

“Great, great,” she said, the smell of her booze wafting into his face. “We… uh, yeah… mechanic. We need a mechanic. How are you with integrated… uh, circuits?”

Tony opened his mouth to tell her that he’d built his first circuit board when he was three, but then realized that was exactly the sort of identifying information he should be keeping to himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have had quite so much fun with those tests. “Um. Yeah, integrated circuits, I can do those,” he said. “Most of my experience is with logic gates, but I can handle amplifiers, timers, whatever you need.”

“Fantastic,” she said, clapping him on the back. “Was indentured myself a while. Came out ahead, now I’ve got my own ship. Recruiter. Here--” She handed him a small, flat disk about the size of his palm. “This is your identification while on Sakaar; keeps the riffraff away. Wouldn’t want anyone to mistake that pretty face of yours for… an _entertainer_ , right?”

“Entertai--” A couple of beats late, Tony got it, and had to suppress the blush that tried to climb out of his shirt collar. _Sexual history, right._ “Uh. Yeah, definitely... not.”

“Great. Standard terms,” Val said, “come on, this way, my ship…” she swayed again, her hips rocking alarmingly. “I uh, might have lied about flying the ship while drinking, but don’t worry. I’m very good. Two years service, one way ticket to anywhere you want to go. Standard bonuses, and intellectual prop… thingie. Don’t invent stuff, or it belongs to the Grandmaster. We gotta go.” She tapped her wrist to activate a ship-to communication system. “Get me on a flight path out of here twenty minutes ago. If I miss that fight tonight, I will be put out.”

Tony followed in her wake, caught somewhere in the tide between confused and bemused. He looked down at the identification disk and hoped it had a more coherent copy of his contract embedded in it. He could read through it while they were en route, if there was enough time. “How-- Miss. How long is the trip?”

“About four hours,” Valkyrie told him. “We’re going straight through the Anus. Don’t worry, I have a map.”

“The...” Tony hesitated, staring at her and wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

 _Anonymity for two years and a free trip to Malibu,_ he reminded himself. He could endure almost anything for two years, right?

The ship was small, a pilot’s couch and a few benches in the back for passengers. Val took the disk out of his hand, “Like this,” she said, and unbuttoned his shirt until it hung open to his navel, swatting away his attempt to keep her from doing it. She pushed the disk flat against his bare chest and there was a brief jolt of searing pain, enough to leave him breathless and dizzy. “There you go. Belt in, I’m going to be in the air in three minutes, no matter what Tower says.”

Tony somehow believed her. He stumbled back onto the nearest bench and strapped himself in, and then looked down at the disk in his chest. He prodded tenderly at the tender edges where it was clamped into his skin. That was going to leave a scar. “Ow.” Valkyrie was ignoring him, waking her ship’s board up and running preflight checks.

Tony tapped at the disk experimentally, and it popped up a holo for him, a menu of options. He could, indeed, read his contract. He could also check on the remaining duration of his indenture, contact his bondsman -- Valkyrie, apparently -- and access the planetary information net, if there was one.

He nearly missed the fine print at the bottom of the menu that informed him that the device also served to track him and enforce boundary permissions. It would shock him again, he translated mentally, if he tried to run away.

“I do not care,” Valkyrie was saying into the ship-to. “Get it out of my way, or it’s gonna rain down over this pathetic planet.”

She disconnected, and then yanked back on the throttle, taking them into orbit at the sharpest incline Tony had ever personally experienced. Gravity crushed him into the bench, two g, five g-- his health monitor in the chip on his chest went crazy, reporting his vitals with increasing alarm.

Valkyrie whooped, swirled the ship around an incoming freighter like she meant to trade paint with it, and they broke free of atmo with a rush. “Juice him,” Valkyrie yelled, and the disk on his chest dumped-- a chempack into his bloodstream, helping to equalize the pressure. His ears popped.

Valkyrie sighed, letting the ship inject her with the same chemicals. She dodged several more incoming ships, skipped off a warship’s gravity well, and activated the hyperdrive on the cusp of smashing them into a space station. The stars went away, and they were in the hyperstream.

“And, now we just kick back and relax. You hungry, Edwards?”

Tony was still staring at the blur of hyperstream beyond the viewport. “I could eat,” he said vaguely. That had been _impressive_ piloting. Or sheer dumb luck. Numbly, he wondered what happened to his bond if she ploughed her ship into an asteroid.

“Here.” She tossed him a ration pack, self-heating, and tore into one herself. “You’re going to be working with my top recruit. He… needs a special touch.” She tapped one of the buttons on the ship’s systems, pulling up a hologram of a handsome man dressing in gladiator combat clothing that showed off muscular legs, a ragged haircut, and-- a metal arm.

“Winter Soldier,” she said. “He’s a contender. If we can place in this year’s games? We’ll all be on easy street. We’re a team, you got that, Edwards. You, me… and him.”

“A team, sure,” Tony said. He reached out and grabbed the holo, pulling it closer and expanding it. “The arm... That’s what you need a mechanic for? Who built it?”

Valkyrie scoffed. “Hydra. I picked him up out of a bad situation a few months back.”

Yeah, Hydra was bad business. They knew their tech, though. Tony chewed on his lip a little, considering it. It wasn’t like anything he’d worked on before, and the challenge of it appealed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “So he fights, and I keep the arm in fighting shape... What do you do?”

“Place bets,” Valkyrie said. “Arrange the fights, keep both of you supplied in gear. Promotion. We started fighting out on street corners for all comers, and I’ve just gotten him into his first amphitheater fight. Tonight. Only he’s glitched, all the stars fall and go black. If we can’t get him into shape, the gladiators are going to rip that arm off and beat him to death with it.”

“ _Tonight?_ ” Tony squeaked. “So no pressure, then. Sure.”

“Welcome to my world,” Valkyrie said, raising her pod of juice at him.

***

The Soldier’s room was kept at temperatures barely above freezing, and he was still stripped to the waist, sweating as he paced. The arm continued to shoot bad data at him, sensory issues of every sort, sparking in the joints.

It hurt, but that barely registered over the panic that chewed in his brain. He made another turn of the room. The countdown timer in his head clicked over another minute. Hydra had built their weapon for complete control. The arm was a weapon and a restraint at the same time. The last fight, the hack that one of Val’s contacts had put on it was knocked loose, activating the beacon, and setting the self-destruct.

The cold kept it from turning him in, from sending word. As a last resort, he had access to one of Val’s pods, he could submerse himself in cryo, but if he did that, he wouldn’t be in any shape for fighting. They’d lose everything, and if she had to renege on her contract, then his would be bought up, too. They’d belong, entirely and utterly, to the Grandmaster. For life.

“Come on, Val, hurry up,” he muttered.

Heat cooked out of the arm, steaming in the air. He hurried over to the sink and dumped cold water on it, keeping the vents open for the most cooling.

Voices in the hall, footsteps.

The Soldier shook freezing water droplets from his fingers, hand going to his knife. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to steal him. The Soldier was valuable property on a hellhole like Sakaar.

The door opened on a man -- not much more than a boy, really, short and slight, with wide brown eyes and fluffy dark hair. “--ust me to do my part,” he was saying as he pushed through the door.

Those eyes swept the room and then zeroed in on the Soldier. No. The Soldier’s arm. He unslung the bag on his shoulder and he bent down to root around inside, apparently heedless of the Soldier’s defensive stance and ready knife. “Circuitry kit, circuitry kit,” he mumbled. “Where the hell-- aha!” He stood back up, brandishing a small plasteel kit. “Tell me you’ve got a space with good light so I can work properly.”

The Soldier sheathed his blade. He could break this boy with one hand -- the flesh one. “You’re the mechanic?” He didn’t mean it to come out like a challenge, but it did. Incredulous, really. Val was trusting their lives to this… boy? He looked more like one of the trembling virgins in the cathouses than someone who could initiate repairs.

“I know, I know,” the boy said knowingly. “Hard to believe. All this--” He swept a hand, encompassing himself. “-- _and_ brains? But it’s true.” He looked around again, and pointed at the table by the bed. “Sit over there, put the arm out where I can get to it. Why the hell is it so cold in here? Nevermind, we can talk while I work. Come on, Snowflake, chop chop, time’s wasting.”

This part, the Soldier knew well. He sat, cocking the elbow and resting it on the table’s top, activating the various slide panels that would let the mechanic at the innards. “Diagnostics, pain threshold 80 percent and dropping, timer reads seventy-eight minutes before Contain and Control protocols activate. Damaged sensor package, broken joints in thumb and index finger. Wrist rotation down 16%. Battery power overtaxed, complete shut down in thirty two hours, nineteen minutes.”

The mechanic’s eyes had flicked up to the Soldier’s face when he’d started the recitation, and they remained there for a few seconds after he’d finished the report, revealing a turmoil of thoughts and emotions. But then he nodded once, sharply, visibly reining himself in. He dropped the kit on the table and opened it, taking out a top-of-the-line scanner. “Okay. Given the time constraints, I’m going to start with disabling the C&Cs and then see if I can come up with a quick boost for the battery before I go to work on the sensor package. You’re the one fighting in a couple of hours -- what’s your priority for the fingers and wrist?” He was scanning as he talked, delicate fingers touching various panels on the arm.

“Finger first, then thumb,” the soldier said. “Fine control, opponent analysis indicates brute strength will be less effective. Armor contains very small weak points. If you increase pain threshold, the Soldier will be most efficient.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the boy said. He pulled a screwdriver and a long-nosed pair of pliers from the kit. “This is going to feel a little weird, probably, but let me know if it actually hurts.” He reached under the plate at the base of the Soldier’s shoulder with the pliers.

“Pain is irrelevant,” the Soldier said, “so long as it does not impede functionality.”

The boy’s face twisted slightly. “Pain conveys valuable information about the nature of malfunction,” he corrected. “I need all the data I can get, given the time crunch we’re under. Also? It fucking sucks.” He twisted, and a shivery twinge ricocheted up the Soldier’s neck. The boy withdrew the pliers, now holding a small chip. He dropped it into a drinking glass. “One down, three to go.” He tapped his way down the plates as if counting, and then went back in.

The soldier watched as the boy tinkered, flicking through tools with precision, talking the whole time. Explaining what he was doing, and the sensations the Soldier should feel. Observations about Val and dismay at her piloting. The Soldier watched as puzzlement grew. No one spoke to the Soldier during maintenance. The readouts and diagnostics told them everything they needed to know.

No one cared if the Soldier prefered the silver ration packs or the red ones.

Certainly no one had ever touched the arm like it was a pet, or a friend, with small loving pats from time to time, gentle fingers against the metal.

The Soldier licked his lips and tried to remember-- “What’s your designation, Mechanic?”

“What?” The boy blinked up at him. “Oh, yeah, we kind of skipped over the formalities, didn’t we? I’m Tony. And you are?”

“Winter Soldier, the American Asset,” the soldier rattled off, along with his serial number, then, “Barnes, James B.” And the briefest flicker of his old life… Before. “ _Bucky_.”

“Yeah?” Brown eyes blinked once, twice, and then the boy -- Tony -- was back to work, sliding a jeweler’s screwdriver up inside Bucky’s glitched fingers. “You don’t look much like a Bucky to me.”

Something twitched at the Soldier’s mouth and when he considered it, he was surprised to find it was a smile. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“S’pose that’s true,” Tony admitted. He pulled out a small circuit board, no thicker than a pencil, and laid it on the table to examine it closely.

“That’s a trap,” the Soldier said, before his programming could stop him. He winced at the squeeze of mostly disabled control chips in the shoulder. “The board’s laid backward. It’ll explode if you tamper with it incorrectly.”

“Mm,” Tony hummed. “I can see that. Shitty thing to do. I mean, it’s your _hand_.” He picked the board up with a pair of tweezers and turned it over. “I don’t have time to make a new one right now, but we’re going to put that on the to-do list.”

“It is _their_ hand,” the Soldier said. “The Asset is a poorly designed system with permission to utilize it. The Fist of Hydra.” The Soldier mouthed the phrases by rote, even if he didn’t believe them anymore. So much of the arm, so much of him… had become the Asset.

“Well, not anymore,” Tony said reasonably. “Val bought you, fair and square, just like she did me.” He pried a tiny contact off the circuit board and dropped that into the drinking glass with the containment nodes. “Okay, let’s see how that works.” He delicately wriggled it back through the vents in the Soldier’s finger to slot it back into place.

“Running internal diagnostics,” the Soldier reported. The arm went through a series of self tests and movement controls; the nerve tingler activated, shooting steel pain through his shoulder and spine, causing him to slip and utter a tiny sound of complaint. He unclenched his jaw and panted a moment before delivering the report to the Mech-- to Tony.

“Running diagnostics should not hurt,” Tony said. “That’s another thing for the to-do list. At this rate, it might be easier if I just built you a whole new arm.”

“Safety feature,” the Soldier told him. “Installed after the Soldier damaged a technician upon diagnostics.”

“Bullshit feature,” Tony said. “It’s one hundred percent possible to immobilize this thing without activating the nerve mesh circuitry.” He’d moved on to the thumb, and despite his annoyed tone, his hands were steady and gentle. “Whoever set it up like that was either incompetent or a sadist. Possibly both.”

The Soldier blinked. “Pain is an effective teaching mechanism.”

“It really isn’t,” Tony said. He pulled the thumb’s circuit and turned it over to check the connections for its self-destruct mechanism. “You catch more flies with honey, and all that. They’ve done studies and everything. Which doesn’t seem to sway the asshats of the world, mind you.”

The Soldier thought back on all his training under Hydra hands, that had been bought dear in blood and agony. The training of the girls in the Red Room, that he had supervised. The white electric torture inflicted on him for disobedience. Even Val, who he considered an excellent handler, had taught him the limits of his freedom with pain.

He wasn’t sure if he believed Tony, this… practically a child, really. He filed it away to consider later.

After.

If the fight went badly, there would not be time left to consider _anything_. What would happen, he wondered, to Tony, if the Grandmaster took his contract. He studied that serious, pretty face, the way his hands were long-fingered and graceful. If the Soldier lost the fight, chances were good he’d be dead.

What would happen to Tony-- perhaps worse.

The Soldier set his jaw. He wouldn’t lose the fight.

He had something -- someone -- else to fight for.

Tony continued to ramble as he finished the work, now peppering his unending dialogue with the occasional unflattering opinion of Hydra’s mechanics and building what seemed a never-ending list of upgrades and enhancements for the Soldier’s arm.

Finally, he sat back in the chair and swiped a hand down his face. “Okay. I can’t do anything else in the time limit; all the other fixes will take longer than we’ve got. And I need some supplies for some of it.” He flashed a smile at the Soldier that seemed to light up his whole face. “Don’t think I did half bad, though. Go on and take ‘er for a spin, let me know what you think.”

The Soldier didn’t even bother to run the diagnostics. He stood, fingers already moving for his knives, sliding them out and going through a complicated set of maneuvers, twisting the blades, throwing at the nearby target on the wall, miming a block, and coming within half a hair of slicing Tony’s cheek. With a deft flick, he removed a lock of that curly, fluffy hair and coiled it around the index finger on his right hand. “For luck.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes round like plates. “Uh. Yeah. Luck.” He shook himself, then rolled to his feet and offered the Soldier his hand. “Good luck, Bucky.”

***

Valkyrie insisted that Tony accompany her into the stadium stands to watch Bucky fight. Tony tried to beg off, but she wouldn’t hear of it, towing him along by his sleeve.

It definitely wasn’t the sort of contest Tony appreciated, though he’d known acquaintances of his father who’d boasted of attending these very games. He slouched onto the bench next to Val and tried not to watch any more of the fighting than he had to, and tried not to call Val’s attention to him much, either, since her drinking, which hadn’t really stopped the whole time Tony had known her, ramped up rather sharply as soon as they’d taken their seats.

Val was talking with their neighbors, drinking, and placing bets through her handscreen. Their seats weren’t great, but at least they had seats. Hundreds of alien beings pressed together in the lower levels to watch.

The first few matches weren’t much considered exciting; fighting to a pin, or first blood. Despite the first blood rule, one contender died, as the first blood was his opponent taking his head clear off with a single slash of a microbladed whip.

Val laughed and toasted the dead man with a raised glass.

A batch of alien boys, younger even than Tony, were sent in to the stadium to fight an alien predator-beast, all bristling spines and vicious fangs. The children took it down, at the cost of one of them, and Tony watched, horrified, as one of the boys pleaded with the dead kid to _get up, we won, brother, get up._

“I’m going to be sick,” he muttered, closing his eyes as the cheering swelled around him. How had he thought he could endure two years of this? He wasn’t sure he’d make it through two _hours_. He _had_ to convince Val not to bring him back to the stadium anymore. Not that it would help much. He’d still _know_. He was sure the crowd’s roar could be heard from all over the city.

“And now, I--” the Grandmaster’s projected image towered above the crowd, a slender, human like man with white hair and elaborate makeup, wearing a glittery golden robe “-- would like to present our first title match for the evening’s entertainment. Fresh off the streets, looking to make a name for himself, originally from the great Frozen Wastelands of Siberia… I give you… the Winter Soldier.”

Val slammed her glass into Tony’s hand, drank straight from the bottle.

Tony didn’t even let himself think about it. He threw back the contents. Whatever it was, it was potent, a heated gasp at the back of his throat that immediately made him dizzy.

“And, defending their honor, all the way from Azzano… Strike Force Delta.”

Bucky walked out of his gate, dressed in black leather, a combat mask strapped over his face, tactical goggles in place. He was bristling with weapons, knives and short range pistols, various explosive and incendiary devices.

“Strike Force? Grandmaster, you son of a bitch!” Val raged. “He was supposed to go against just Crossbones, not the whole squad! They’ll tear him apart.”

Tony swallowed again, still feeling the burn of the alcohol. He had a good idea of what Bucky’s arm was capable of, after having worked on it all afternoon. But he had no idea of the capabilities of the squad Bucky would be facing. He found himself leaning forward, trying to look at them more closely as they emerged. “Rigged game?”

Val slitted a look at him. “Usually,” she said, shortly. “He’s still pissed at me.” Val leaped to her feet, yelling and screaming obscenities questioning the heritage and sexual proclivities of the Grandmaster. She went as far as turning her back on him to shake a bared backside before apparently getting most of her aggression out.

In the meanwhile, Bucky had raced away, moving faster than humanly possible, a blue of black and silver, for the closest cover, set up, and picked off one of the Strike members as they tried to flank him.

The crowd surged, roaring, and Tony moved with it, on his feet, fighting to see over the shoulders and heads of taller watchers. He didn’t want to watch, really, but he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ look away. “Bucky!” he called, even knowing he had no hope of being heard over the noise. “You can do it,” he whispered. “You have to.”

One of his grenades went into the dirt, driving back a pair of them, and then he rolled, snagging a third. His knife was in the metal hand, and he used the captive as a human shield, dragging the body with him as he moved. He was brutal, ugly and violent, never hesitating.

Except when Tony cried his name, Bucky turned his head enough, and even behind those tactical goggles, Tony could feel the weight of that stare. He gave Tony a quick nod, and then broke the guy’s neck, off again. The arm was both weapon and shield; bullets deflected off it as he sprinted.

He was fast, graceful. Death as a dancer, moving into close combat range, his knife blurring from one hand to the other.

He lashed out with a kick that sent one of the Strike members flying, where he caught in the protective electrical netting that kept the fighters from accidentally (or intentionally) injuring the spectators.

The last one, yelling curses and screaming, charged him. Bucky took a blade to the arm, and the thing snapped off, leaving the man holding only the hilt. The arm was shooting sparks, the fingers spasmed helplessly.

Bucky staggered backward and the Strike member hit him in the face with the hilt, shattering the goggles. Even from that distance, Tony could see how blue Bucky’s eyes were, wide with pain. He sought Tony out of the crowd again and gave him a little salute -- like he was saying goodbye.

Tony shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hand. “Don’t you dare give up,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you _dare_.”

He whirled, flesh hand grabbing the all but useless metal one and-- the crowd was practically holding its breath, waiting for the Strike Team leader to deliver the coup de grace -- Bucky snapped the metal finger, breaking it. He shoved the metal arm against the Strike guy’s belly, wrapped around like holding a wrestling pin, the man curled around the metal arm.

Three, two, one--

The hand exploded with a brilliant white flare, a hiss of smoke, and then the Strike Team leader fell the ground. What was left of him, anyway.

The stump was blackened from fire, bloody from the kill, barely extending past Bucky’s shoulder.

But he was alive.

He was alive, and the winner.

Tony all but fell back onto the bench, gasping for breath as if he’d run for miles at top speed, choking in an effort to hold back his sobs of relief.

Val cheered wildly, finished drinking her bottle, and poured the last swallow or so over Tony’s head. “Go, get him, take him home,” she said. “I have wagers to collect.”

“But I don’t--” He was talking to her back, rapidly retreating as she shoved her way through the crowds. “--know where to pick him up,” Tony finished lamely. He sighed, shook his head to get some of the booze out of his hair, and went in the opposite direction, out of the stadium seating. Downward, was probably the best direction to go, he decided. Maybe once he got closer, there would be signs, or someone more or less official-looking that he could ask for directions.

More cheers and roars from the crowd as the next fight started. Tony pushed his way through, finding a dark staircase that headed down -- that looked promising. He was on a lower level, well lit but relatively unoccupied. There were doors along the interior wall.

A holographic map flickered near one door, and Tony slapped it, getting the basic layout of the gladiator ring. Something even louder than the crowd roared from one room, the wall vibrating as whatever it was crashed into it.

A lean man, maybe an Asgardian, leaned against a wall, absently studying his fingernails, as he lingered outside a room. “Come on, brother, I’m not waiting forever,” he said, then raised jade green eyes to watch Tony with a gleam.

It wasn’t like Tony had never been looked at, before, but he had to admit he felt somewhat naked without the protection of his name and wealth hanging over him like a mantle. Still, the Asgardian looked friendlier than the few others he’d passed. “How do you find a particular fighter?” he asked.

The man made walking motions with his fingers. “The doors are in order by fight. The closer you are to the center, the more prestigious your fighter.” He looked at Tony, mouth twitching up in a smile. “Are you a prize, dear child?”

“No,” Tony said shortly. “I’m a mechanic.” He started off down the hall, looking through the few open doors as he passed.

The hallway was endless, a huge spiral, and Tony’s legs were killing him. Had it really only been that morning since he was sneaking out of his father’s house, headed for the spaceport? That seemed a lifetime ago, already.

“Ah, there you are,” a voice bellowed, and not a familiar one. The -- person -- was huge and muscular and wearing armor that looked as if it were carved from crystal. “I ordered my fucktoy almost an hour ago!” A huge hand, attached to a recklessly muscled arm, grabbed hold of Tony’s shoulder and yanked him toward one of the rooms. “Look, brothers, it’s pretty.”

“ _Not_ \--” Tony tried to pull free of that hand, but he might as well have been fighting off a brick wall. “ _Not_ what you ordered! Let go!” Damn it, his identity chip was supposed to protect him. He tapped at it with his free hand, trying to wake it up. “Let _go!_ ”

“Excuse me, _asshole_ ,” a familiar, exhausted voice, said, and as both Tony and the other brawler looked up, Bucky flicked a knife through the air. Tony had time to watch the light spinning off the edge before it buried itself in the brawler’s sleeve and pinned it neatly to the wall. Bucky already had a second knife in hand. “The next one will put you in no condition to entertain your fucktoy. This one belongs to me. That’s my mechanic.”

The brawler’s hand loosened, although it seemed more like reflex than choice. Tony’s chip stuttered a few times, sparked, and then he felt the current racing along his skin, like a breeze, to deliver a jolt to the man, who yelped and let go.

“Take him, and get gone,” the man said, cradling his shocked hand, the hair on his arm smelling burned.

Tony took several steps back out of the big man’s reach, then turned toward Bucky. “Val sent me for you,” he said. “Can you walk? Do you need help?”

“‘M all lopsided,” Bucky complained. “Keep over balancing for an arm that ain’t there.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I bet. Come on.” He tucked himself against Bucky’s side and slung his arm around Bucky’s waist, supporting. “Let’s get you home so I can fix you up, hm?”

“Home sounds good,” Bucky said. He leaned heavily on Tony, practically letting Tony drag him, as he occasionally gave directions. As they moved into parts of the city that looked more familiar, Bucky leaned into him a moment. “Have… have you been drinking?”

“A little,” Tony said. “But mostly she just dumped some on my head.” He poked at his chip. “Probably what made this malfunction.”

Bucky put his palm against the door, which screeched, and then got about half open. “Home sweet home,” Bucky said, pushing the door the rest of the way. “Maybe we can afford better digs.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Tony helped Bucky to the nearest chair. “She was going to collect on her bets when I left to find you.” He scrounged around in cabinets and shelves until he found a first aid kit, then grabbed up his toolkit. “How bad is the pain on the arm?”

“I feel ev’ry bit of a hundred damn years old, and like someone ripped off m’ arm,” Bucky admitted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Soldier,” the holo-com flicked on and there was a miniature of the Grandmaster in the kitchen. “Mr. Soldier, congratulations on your win. We’re so very impressed with you here--” There was something blue and tentacle-y wrapped around the Grandmaster, who snuggled into it. “As a token of our esteem, we’d like to send you a choice virgin, to celebrate--”

“No thanks,” Bucky said, and then his jaw clenched as he realized what refusing the Grandmaster’s gift might cost. “No. Thank you. I already got one.” He made a gesture toward Tony.

“Oh… oh, well, then--” and the holo flickered out.

Tony bit his lip. “I might not be,” he said, opening his toolkit and rummaging in it as an excuse not to look at Bucky.”

“Don’t matter none,” Bucky said. “I’ll pick my own bedmates, not let him send me some poisoned slipper.”

“I think you might be mixing your metaphors, a little,” Tony said, but it made him smile, and his shoulders dropped from the hunch he hadn’t realized they’d been in. He pulled another chair over beside Bucky’s and straddled it. “Let’s see if I can turn off the neural feedback for your arm.”

Bucky reached out his right hand and touched Tony’s cheek. “Hey. Thank you.”

Tony looked up, startled. “I’m just... Uh. You’re welcome?”

Bucky leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and let Tony get to work. It wasn’t until he’d managed to get all the nerve clustering shut down, put a temporary cap on the end of the arm, and was helping the man out of his armor, that he realized that Bucky was wearing the lock of Tony’s hair, braided small and sewn in a loop, around a strap on his armor.

Tony paused, touching it hesitantly. “I guess it... helped?”

“Maybe it did,” Bucky said, and he covered Tony’s hand with his. “You’re th’ first person who’s treated me like a person and not a weapon in more’n fifty years.” He flicked his gaze up to meet Tony’s, those grey eyes warm and inviting.

“Oh.” Tony licked his lips, and then he wondered what it would be like to kiss Bucky, to be wrapped up in that big, strong body, to let Bucky take possession of his mouth, his skin. Bucky’s lips were thick and plush and soft-looking, and they were hypnotic, drawing Tony in...

The door slammed open, banged against the wall and screeched at the halfway point. “Are you-- are you molesting my mechanic?” Valkyrie bellowed, wine bottle in one hand and a glowing holo in the other. “The grandmaster said you were, an’ I did not pay for him to be deflowered by the likes of you!”

She shoved at the door again, kicking it angrily, as Bucky jerked backward, as if they’d both been caught in the midst of doing something more incriminating than not-quite kissing.

 _You didn’t pay for me to be deflowered at all,_ Tony thought. _I’m a_ mechanic. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it aloud, though, not with Val yelling and banging on things, too similar to Howard for comfort, and damn it, he’d run _away_ from this. He caught himself edging behind Bucky and made himself stop. He couldn’t turn Bucky into a shield, that was unfair.

“Pipe down,” Bucky said. “I didn’t touch ‘im. Besides, virginity is an overrated social construction.”

Valkyrie blinked a few times, putting her wine bottle down. “Did you just… make a full sentence or something? I didn’t know you knew how to do that. Look, look, stupid social construct or not, virginity is both rare and valuable on Sakaar.” She wobbled in Tony’s direction a little, expression more drunk older sister, protective and somewhat condescending, rather than angry. “I’m not saying don’t give it to this lug, I’m just saying… make sure you know what you want, when you give it to someone.”

Tony gaped at her. That was... surprisingly sweet. “I’m... better off, I’d rather give it to someone I know and trust and like, than have it given away for me, like some kind of prize.”

“Up to you,” Valkyrie said. “I didn’t pay _that_ much for you, you still get to decide. But consider it. I can put you in touch with a buyer, if you want. First times are over-rated. Awkward, embarrassing, never as good as you’d want it to be. Might as well get rich, right, Soldier?”

“And how many times have you sold your virginity?”

“Once.”

“This is a very uncomfortable conversation,” Bucky pointed out. “Sober up. I’m going to get some rest, and tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to spend our ill gained riches.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed weakly. “Rest. It’s been... a hell of a day.” He looked around the tiny apartment as Valkyrie rolled her eyes and stumbled her way into a bedroom, the lock on the door clicking loudly. “So, uh. Where am I sleeping?” Tony wondered cautiously.

Bucky gave him a long, steady look. “You were an emergency acquisition. No place for you to bunk up, except my room. It’s a big bed, we can share it.”

Tony looked around the apartment again, but there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. It was Bucky’s bed or the floor, it seemed. “Right,” he managed, and waved. “Lead on.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said, opening another door to his cold-as-ice bedroom. “Val talks a big game, but she’d rip my spleen out if I did anything to you that you didn’t want.”

 _What about what I_ do _want?_ Tony wondered, but he wasn’t entirely sure, himself, what that was, so he just followed Bucky into the small bedroom. “I’m not worried,” he said. “Not about you.” And that was... oddly true.

***

Bucky woke up with a jolt, as if he’d fallen a hundred yards before landing on a soft bed. His eyes sprang open and his heart was beating so hard in his throat he couldn’t have screamed around it if he’d wanted to.

It was dark, and cold, and--

He scrambled for his arm, his arm, his goddamn arm--

Instead of finding his arm, ragged and torn from his body, bleeding out in the snow, his fingers encountered warm, soft… snuggly.

Someone in the bed with him took a deeper breath and curled more urgently against Bucky’s side.

Oh.

_Tony._

Tony was sleeping, half on him, a bundle of blankets and shivers pressed against Bucky’s chest, head pillowed on the shattered remains of his bionic arm.

“Hey--” he said, soft, trying not to startle Tony too much, but-- the feedback was getting to him. Bucky’d offered Tony the side of the bed that was away from the wall, so the boy wouldn’t feel like Bucky was pinning him in. But now it meant that Bucky was the one pushed all the way up against the wall.

“Mm?” Tony cuddled in closer, practically burrowing into Bucky’s side. “Jus’... jus’ need a min--” He froze, stock-still, for a count of three breaths, and then scrambled back. “Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t-- oh _fuck_ , it’s _freezing_ over here,” he whined, his tone ping-ponging from apologetic to startled to indignant.

“Hey, shhh,” Bucky tried again. “S’okay, you-- were jus’ layin’ on a bad spot.” Bucky reached for the cap of the arm, trying to figure out what, exactly it was. “Could feel m’ arm fallin’ off, dreamin’ about it.” He gave up, waving his hand near the panel, bringing the room lights up slowly. “Can you see?”

Maybe he could, but Tony was, instead, staring at Bucky’s bare chest. Even with with temperatures close to four or five degrees, Bucky put out a lot of heat while he slept, and he’d woken once before, practically swimming in sweat, and he’d shucked most of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor over Tony’s shoulder.

“I, uh...” Tony’s gaze jerked up to meet Bucky’s, and he blushed furiously. “Sorry, I’m just. Um. Arm. Yes. I can... Let me take a look at...” He stopped, scrubbing his hands over his face roughly, and then took a breath and held it as he leaned in to examine Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hope you meant what you said earlier,” Bucky said, conversationally, trying to ignore the fact that he was dressed only in a pair of thin shorts and Tony was all but climbing into his lap to look at his busted up arm.

“What I said?” Tony’s hands were sliding over his shoulder, gentle and careful even through the feedback the arm was jittering through his brain.

“That you can make a new one,” Bucky said. “Ain’t like there’s much warranty on the old one left over.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can.” Tony curved his hand around what was left of the arm and lifted it a little. “I mean, it might depend on what kind of materials I can get my hands on, and how long we’ve got before you have to go back out-- oh! I think I see it, hang on a sec.” He stretched for his bag, precariously balanced on the very edge of the bed, and dragged it closer to fish out a pair of wire cutters. “Okay, this might pinch just for a second...”

The pain was as horrific as it was mercifully brief. Bucky blinked away spots and realized that his eyes were watering in reaction. But then everything went easy and still. “Oh, that’s better.” The complete lack of pain was shocking, like he hadn’t realized that so many parts of him still hurt. He’d sublimated so much of it, had adjusted to it, that he hadn’t even _noticed_ it anymore. “Oh.” His eyes wouldn’t stop tearing up as he shuddered with relief.

“Are you okay?” Tony’s hand was hovering, not quite touching, his eyes wide and worried. “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough. “Yeah, I-- maybe for th’ first time since this happened. It don’t hurt. Like at all.”

“Oh.” Tony swallowed, loud in the quiet room. “We’re gonna... When I make the new arm. We’ll make sure that doesn’t hurt. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky repeated. He wasn’t sure he knew who he was without the constant pain. Like the person he’d used to be was buried under it. “Come on, lay down, get some sleep. You look so exhausted, you’re makin’ me tired jus’ lookin’ at you. I know it’s cold--” He went to shrug and realized his shoulders didn’t move like that anymore. “But I run hot as Hel, an’ I can’t sleep at normal room temperature.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you run warm,” Tony said, wriggling carefully back down into the covers. “Why is that? You from an ice planet or something?”

Bucky shifted around until he had Tony in a little spoon position, keeping him in the warm circle of his body. “Enhanced metabolism. Healing, speed, endurance. I eat a lot, too. Val complains constantly.”

“Not enough to sell your bond, though,” Tony noted, snuggling in. “If we’re going to keep sharing, I’m going to need some more blankets. Tell me about her.”

“Val? She’s smarter than she acts,” Bucky said. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s back and waved the lights to dim again. “There was a war. She’s one of th’ survivors. She drinks to forget ‘em. Most of everyone she loved is dead. She told me, once. She was drinkin’ more than usual, had a bad dream. She’s brave, though. Stands up to the Grandmaster. Aren’t many here who do. She washed up here, years ago, fought her way up to freedom. Now she’s trying to challenge him for the championship. That’d be you an’ me. Oh, an’ she’s got a lady friend, comes ‘round once in a while, they get roasted together and make love with alarming frequency.”

“You’re just trying to make me blush, now,” Tony accused sleepily. “Does she... get mad? Throw stuff or, or break things or...?”

“Not s’much,” Bucky said. “Think the door frustrates her. She keeps sayin’ she’s gonna get it fixed. It sticks. Mostly, she sings. And cusses about the Grandmaster. I like her.” Bucky thought about that for a moment. It hadn’t really occurred to him, in a long time, whether he liked _anyone_. But he did. She was… sassy.

A little shiver ran through Tony’s body, and he seemed to melt, just a bit. “That’s good. She’s--” He yawned. “--hard to read. Was worried she might be like m’dad.”

Bucky pulled him in, smelling his warm, sleepy scent. “Don’t worry,” he said, yawning once. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Need me a good mechanic.” With that thought, he nuzzled at Tony’s shoulder once, and drifted off again.

***

Tony woke with a jolt, not sure where he was, and then registered the icy tip of his nose, even if the rest of him was surprisingly warm. The previous day’s events scrolled through his mind in a blur, leaving him half-sick and half-triumphant and entirely overwhelmed. “Oh god,” he whispered. Had he really _done_ all that?

And then woken in the middle of the night to pull a shorting wire from Bucky’s arm and maybe reveal entirely too much about himself? Not his identity, probably, but how best to hurt him, maybe. Tony bit his lip, but Bucky was still holding him protectively close, and Tony thought, if he had to trust _someone_ , it would be Bucky.

But he was still going to get some extra blankets.

Bucky shifted against him, mumbling sleepily, and-- hello, morning wood pushed against the back of Tony’s thigh and Bucky rolled his hips, slow and sensual.

Tony’s breath caught. He had no idea what to do -- he’d been handling his own arousal for years, now, but he’d been carefully watched and strictly chaperoned and none of his near-agemates back in Manhattan had really _interested_ him, that way, anyway -- and he had no idea what to do with someone else’s cock, pressed insistently against his leg.

All he knew was that he wanted to do _something_ about it. His own dick was stirring, filling and firming with each heavy pulse of his blood. He couldn’t deny that he found Bucky interesting and attractive, and maybe that was just the sheer adrenaline of... everything, and the desperate need to bond with _some_ one he could trust, but...

Biting down on his lip, Tony cautiously rocked his hips back, pushing into the heat of Bucky’s body, feeling that hardness against him.

Bucky made a soft, urgent noise, a throaty sort of moan that went straight through Tony, lighting his nerves on fire, and then that mouth was pressed against the back of Tony’s neck, tongue darting out to sample the skin right at the join of his shoulder. His hips rolled with Tony’s, a heavy, desperate rhythm. “Mmmm?”

Tony’s breath left him in a soft groan. “Yes, yes...”

At the sound of him, Bucky stiffened even more noticeably, and then, with a suddenness that took his breath away, Tony found himself on his back, with Bucky practically hovering over him. Misty eyes gazed at him, then-- “Are we awake?”

“I certainly hope so,” Tony said, breath coming faster as his heart sped up. He lifted a hand to brush Bucky’s hair back, skating his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky tipped his face, turning into Tony’s hand, kissing the fingers, then-- “Oh, we _are_.” He ground down, pushing against Tony’s hips, moaned softly, then, “Are you?” He did it again, rubbing them together with interest. “Stars, you feel _good_.”

The movement set sparks fizzling under Tony’s skin, more than any touch of his own had ever managed, and he gasped, rutting up against Bucky without even thinking. “Good, yes,” he managed. “Bucky--”

“Sweet, you’re so sweet, look at you--” Bucky murmured, and he nuzzled the side of Tony’s throat, kissing his neck, his jaw, peppering little kisses along his chin, before claiming his mouth. More aware of the way it juddered along his nerves, Tony noted that they were both fuzzy mouthed and sour from sleep before that all washed away as Bucky’s tongue slid into his mouth, flicking over his teeth and along the inside of his cheek.

Tony surrendered to it, and then answered Bucky’s explorations with his own, his tongue sliding along Bucky’s, testing the places where their mouths were sealed together. His hands curled around Bucky’s back, pulling them tightly together. “Bucky, I don’t-- I haven’t-- You’ll have to tell me what to do,” he admitted.

Bucky looked up at him, those beautiful eyes outlined with thick lashed. “Yeah? That-- I like that, you know. That ain’t no one else ever known you, no one’s ever touched you like this. You like it, me kissin’ you? Touching you?” He demonstrated, shifting so he was laying next to Tony instead, leaving his skin rippling with gooseflesh as he traced lines and swirls over Tony’s chest and belly, a teasing curl that got closer to Tony’s groin with each tempting whirl.

Tony shivered and shuddered under those light touches, arching into them eagerly. “I like it. I didn’t think it could feel like this, so...” He shook his head, out of words. “Kiss me again?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, spearing his hand into Tony’s hair, pulling him closer, thumb rubbing at Tony’s ear and came in to kiss and tease at Tony’s mouth. He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, breath a soft puff against Tony’s cheek. The scrape of his stubble against Tony’s chin tingled, sensation drowning every rational thought in Tony’s brain, leaving a restless cry of more, _more_ , in its wake. Tony shivered again, and Bucky grinned at him. “You still cold, doll? Let me see if I c’n warm you up.” He disappeared under the blanket, sliding down to tug up Tony’s undershirt, licking at the skin of Tony’s belly.

Tony gasped, arching up into the touch. “Oh...” He pushed his hands into Bucky’s hair, mindlessly trying to direct that hot mouth where Tony’s body insisted it needed it most. “Bucky, please...” His hips were twisting, lifting, desperate in the search for friction.

Bucky laughed, a soft, amused sound that might have been humiliating -- did Bucky think he was _cute?_ \-- except that Bucky traced his finger up the length of Tony’s dick, from balls to crown, pressure over the material of his drawers that he’d worn to sleep in.

Tony let out a needy whine, then clapped his hand over his mouth, glancing toward the wall. Oh, god, how was he supposed to be quiet when Bucky was making him feel like _this?_ “Bucky, Bucky, I need, please, I need...”

“Gonna take care of ever’thing you need,” Bucky told him, and did it again, slowly dragging his hand up, fingers trailing along Tony’s groin, a tease and exquisite torture, more than Tony had ever felt in his life, and still _not enough_. He wriggled and thrust up against Bucky’s hand, who just pulled it back. “It’s okay, I’ll get ya there, honey. Slow, breathe with it. Know it don’t feel like it right now, but it’ll be better if you take it slow.”

Tony whined again, but sank back down onto the bed, panting, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even _tried_ to jerk off slow, too concerned with taking care of the need of the moment before anyone could suspect what he was up to. The very idea was maddening, a torment, and a delicious thrill up Tony’s spine. He tried to slow his breathing, to match Bucky’s easy pace, but it was next to impossible. It seemed he was one huge mass of heated sensation and aching need.

Bucky grumbled in the back of his throat. “This’d be easier if I hadn’t had t’ blow up my own damn arm,” he complained, then, “well, guess I’ll jus’--” He slid his hand down the front of Tony’s drawers, palm brushing against Tony’s skin, then over the head of his cock, smearing copious amounts of pre-come around. He mouthed at Tony’s chest, pushing Tony’s tee up as he went, until that hot, lush mouth closed on Tony’s nipple, tongue working the sensitive flesh.

Tony writhed, each breath coming out on a moan, the heat building until it seemed he had to be burning up. “Bucky,” he pleaded, “I’m so, so close, I just, oh _god_...” He shoved his hand over his mouth and bit down to keep from screaming as that heat and pressure exploded, a white burst behind his eyelids as his whole body shivered and shuddered through his climax.

Bucky flicked his tongue over Tony’s nipple again, a scrape of teeth against the pebbled skin, then he pulled back, cupping Tony’s cock and nursing him through the aftershocks until Tony was too sensitive and squirming away. “Ain’t you pretty,” Bucky observed, and when Tony opened his eyes, raised his fingers to his mouth and licked away the evidence of Tony’s spill.

Tony’s cock twitched at that sight, trying valiantly to push through its exhaustion. “You are so damned _gorgeous_ ,” Tony murmured, curling up to catch Bucky’s lips with his, kissing again and again, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky’s mouth. “That was so, so fantastic,” he panted between kisses. “I want to, I need to see you come, too, can I-- tell me what you want.”

Bucky kissed him, cuddled him, petting his arm and hair with fondness. It was comfortable, in a way Tony had never thought about, being utterly relaxed with someone else. “We’ll get to it,” Bucky said. “Just catch your breath, honey. I ain’t in a hurry.” Bucky kissed the tip of Tony’s nose, and then slid out of the bed, letting in a draft of cold air.

He rummaged around in a drawer and came back with a few things; a cloth that he used to clean up the rest of Tony’s spend, a bottle of water that he offered over and a small tube. “Just in case,” he said, then crawled back into the bed with Tony. “How do you feel?”

Tony drank a few big swallows of water -- it was almost too cold, just from being in the room -- and flopped back onto the bed with a contented sigh. “I feel _great_.” He tipped his head, looking at the tube. “What’s that?”

“Slick,” Bucky said. “Keeps everything from rubbin’ too much an’ making it sore.” He rolled onto his back, wordlessly inviting Tony to spread out over him, sharing his body heat. “You-- back in my time, we’d use hand cream, t’ you know, jerk it. This is like that, only… so I don’t hurt you.”

“Oh, _lube_ ,” Tony said. He might not have much (any) experience, but it wasn’t like he was entirely lacking in knowledge. “What the heck kind of planet did you come from that didn’t have lube, what--” He eyed Bucky’s face, gauging age. “--twenty, thirty years ago?”

Bucky made a soft noise. “Older than I look,” he said. “A _lot_ older. You might not believe it. When-- I remember th’ first man to walk on our moon. Space travel. All this-- that was a dream and a wish when I was a teenager.”

Tony scoffed. “That’s, like... _hundreds_ of years ago. Almost a thousand. You can’t be more than... thirty-five, tops.”

“Well, I wasn’t _awake_ for all of it,” Bucky said, reasonably. “Cryotube got lost. I guess, in time I been awake and aware, I’m about ninety. Give or take.”

“You don’t look ninety, either,” Tony pointed out. “They had cryo back that far?”

Bucky ran a hand up Tony’s body, from his thigh and up his hip, over his ribs. “They’ve had cryo since the 40’s. The nineteen forties.” He leaned down, kissed Tony’s jaw. “It’s a long, boring story. You don’t want to hear it, an’ I want--” He plucked at Tony’s shirt, strange how he’d not yet managed to get his clothes off. “-- to see you.”

“Uh. Yeah, yeah, I can--” Tony sat up and reached back to pull his shirt off over his head. His nipples promptly tightened into hard nubs in the frigid air, but he was still snuggled up close against Bucky, who was putting off heat like a bonfire. Tony shoved at his pants, getting them the rest of the way off, and kicked them off the bed, spreading his arms in a little “here I am” sort of gesture.

“So damn beautiful,” Bucky said. “Wanna kiss you all over. You feeling okay, not too sensitive anymore?” He illustrated his point by licking over Tony’s nipple, puckered and stiff from the cold air, and it felt good, somehow _more_ than it had before. “Listen to that, you like that.” Tony could feel Bucky’s lips smiling against him, before he practically devoured Tony’s chest, licking and sucking at the one side.

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, twining his fingers in Bucky’s hair and holding on as if for dear life. Each flick of Bucky’s tongue, each delicate drag of teeth, was like a lightning bolt of pure need, shooting from Tony’s chest straight down into his balls. His cock was starting to swell up again, and he rolled his hips without even thinking about it, rubbing against Bucky’s body. “Ohhhh, god, that feels so good,” he said, breath hitching. “Thought... Thought we were going to take care of you next?”

Bucky leaned his chin on Tony’s chest to look up at him. “You bein’ relaxed an’ happy is taking care of me,” he said. “It’s fun, watchin’ you squirm around, listenin’ to the way you hitch your breath in. Ain’t never gonna be this way again, new an’ fresh. Want it to be good for you, want to _be_ good for you, honey. Damn Val for sayin’ what she did. Your first time, it oughta be damn special.”

“It’s been pretty great so far,” Tony said, and it had been a long, long time since he’d felt this uncomplicatedly happy. And that was mostly because of Bucky. He ducked his head to catch Bucky’s mouth in another kiss, because kissing was _fantastic_ , why had he not done more of that before? “Do I get to see you, at least?” he asked when he’d finally been forced to come up for air.

“Look all you like, honey,” Bucky said. “You already seen th’ horrific bits.” He reached for his shoulder, the stump, the scars. There was an expression on his face that Tony wasn’t sure how to read. Resignation, maybe. “And it didn’t scare you off.” He rolled his hips up. “You can help me with these, if you want.”

“I want.” Tony scooted back just enough to hook his fingers under the waistband of the thin shorts that Bucky was sleeping in. “You’re not horrific, not any of you. Hurt, some, but who isn’t? I think--” And whatever he’d been about to say dropped right out of his head as he got Bucky’s clothes off and he could finally _see_ what had been grinding into him since he’d woken up.

Bucky’s cock was thick and long, just slightly curved, heavy and flushed with desire, and it was an odd sort of pride that swelled in Tony’s chest: that was his doing; Bucky wanted _him_. “Oh, oh wow, you’re... _wow_.”

Bucky scoffed. “Ain’t that different from yours, honey. Works just the same.” He took Tony’s hand, loose and easy, and let the palm brush down the skin, hotter even than the rest of Bucky’s skin, soft and velvety. The whole thing jumped and twitched under Tony’s fingers, as if it was begging to be touched, wanting his attention.

“No, I know that,” Tony said, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away, fascinated by the feel of it. “I just... it’s a different angle. And I haven’t seen all that many. Not in this state, anyway.” He flushed a little, focusing on what he was doing to Bucky’s dick so he’d have an excuse not to try to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“You can get t’know him, if you want,” Bucky said. “How it feels in your hand, or… you can put your mouth there, if you want. Whatever you want.”

A shiver ran through Tony, just thinking about it. “Yes. That.” He shifted his weight, slithered down Bucky’s body until he was curled into the warm cradle of Bucky’s legs. He hesitated, just for a moment -- what should he do next? What if he messed up? What if Bucky didn’t like it? -- and then huffed at himself impatiently. He nuzzled against that silk-soft skin with his nose and his lips, feeling that heat, breathing in Bucky’s scent, and then licked tentatively, a broad lap from the base nearly to the tip.

“That’s… that’s so sweet,” Bucky said, his breath coming harder, huffing out between his words, like he wasn’t completely calm, or collected. Like Tony had done that, too. It was a strange, heady sensation, a rush of power and exhilaration. And close on the heels of that was a desperate desire to do it right, do it again, make Bucky as wild and crazy with pleasure as Tony had been.

He licked again, and then again, spiraling like Bucky’s cock was an ice cream cone, trying to taste everything, to feel every little bump and ridge, testing, in search of the spots that got the best reactions -- pretty similar to the same spots on Tony, as it turned out, which made it easier. He lapped tentatively at the head, getting the sharp-bitter flavor of precome and a delicious moan.

He glanced up at Bucky’s face and blushed again at the realization that Bucky was watching him intently. He bit back the ridiculous urge to ask if he was doing it right and closed his mouth over the head of Bucky’s cock, dragging his tongue across it and sucking carefully. How hard was too hard?

Bucky’s hand closed on the sheets, tugging like he was trying to hold himself down as his hips rocked in time with Tony’s movements. Bucky shook his head back and forth, long hair getting into his face, eyes closed, mouth open, and he rocked back to expose a gorgeous, vulnerable throat. He said something in a language that Tony didn’t speak, but the tone was familiar enough, a prayer or a curse, but said with reverence.

“Okay, okay, that’s-- oh, god, that’s _good_ , Tony,” Bucky said, but at the same time, he was struggling to sit up. “I… gotta know, if you want me t’ come like that, or, you want to move on, to the next step.” He was breathing hard, body coated with a light shimmer of sweat, steam practically raising off his skin in the cold air.

Well, that was hardly fair. Tony wanted it all, of course. How could he not, when Bucky was so _gorgeous_ , and it was Tony who’d given him that pleasure? But he looked up at Bucky and knew he wanted to give Bucky _everything_ , even if it was just this once. “Show me,” he said. “I want it all.”

Bucky drew him in for a sweet kiss, not heated much at all, just a brush of lip, a flick of tongue. “And I want to give it to you. Want to be the first, the one-- your one. So, I’m gonna talk you through it, a bit, an’ if it don’t sound like something you want any truck with, you just say, all right? We can always do it th’ other way ‘round, if you’d rather. I-- I mean, I ain’t got lots of experience with teachin’, but for me, helped that I, you know, knew what it felt like, before I tried stickin’ it to someone else.”

Tony nodded, doing his best to ignore the blush that wouldn’t go away. “I want you to... Want you in me,” he said. “Definitely, pretty sure, like... like 85 percent.”

“No foul,” Bucky said, spreading his hand wide. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stick with that. Jus’ tell me, we’ll back it up. I won’t be upset, ‘kay? Promise.” And he actually crossed his heart and then kissed two of his fingers.

The childish gesture made Tony laugh, and eased a knot of tension that he hadn’t even realized had been forming. “Promise,” he agreed. “What, uh, how do you want me?”

“Lay on your back for a bit,” Bucky said, decisely. “Spread your legs, no, not that wide, I ain’t a hippo. Just need a little room to work. Gonna slick you up and work you open. One finger, then two. Get you used to how it feels. See what you like.”

“Okay.” Tony shivered a little in the cold air, but mostly he was burning, aching for Bucky to touch him again.

Bucky picked up the bottle of lube, then looked at it, befuddled. “Well, fuck,” he said. “How ‘bout that. Forgot that I didn’t have two hands. Here, you-- yeah, get the lid off, would ya?” He cupped his hand around the shiny substance that Tony poured into his hand, blew on it. “Warm it up for you. Stuff is chilly half the time anyway, lucky it ain’t frozen, bein’ in here with me, and what would be the fun in that?”

“That... does not sound fun, no,” Tony agreed. He wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable, but mostly just flinching back from the cold sheets. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Shh,” Bucky told him. “I’ll know when you’re ready.” He scowled again at the empty space where his other arm used to be, then leaned in, awkwardly cupping the lube, and kissed Tony, heat, and wanting, his tongue sliding in to taste. The way his tongue flickered against the sensitive inside of Tony’s lip, encouraging him to open his mouth, and then that tongue would move again, tickling at the corner of his lips. Bucky bit him, so light, teeth barely dragging against Tony’s lower lip, stretching it out.

Like all the kissing they’d done before was practice, and this was some sort of encore. Bucky kissed him, and kissed him again, and somewhere in there, slid his hand between Tony’s legs, and one single fingertip brushed along the pucker of his asshole, just a faint touch, but it sent currents straight up his spine; pleasure and weirdness and -- it wasn’t pain, not that, but it was _odd_.

Tony wiggled a little -- but that just made it stranger. “Oh, oh that’s... that’s different.”

“Yeah, little bit,” Bucky said, and he did it again, just that little brush, but after his hand moved, Tony felt… wet. And the next stroke after that was… more. A brush, but also with a smooth glide to it. Bucky’s fingertip circled the tight pucker that marked Tony’s entrance, and-- weird, but also squirmy. Embarrassing, really, if he had to be honest. Tony’s body spasmed on the next wave, clenching everything up, his thighs, his toes curled, hands balled into fists. “Shhh, easy does it. Here, kiss me again, it’ll help.”

Tony curled up to kiss Bucky, and Bucky drew it out, teasing and coaxing until Tony was swaying into the rhythm of it, losing himself in the slick slide of tongues and mouths and-- Bucky’s finger was in him, he realized suddenly, almost stroking him from the inside. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Bucky said, and he was smiling, soft and looking at him with eyes nearly black. “This okay?” He slid the finger in and out again, pausing as he got almost all the way out to twist around the opening, which shot sunbursts of sensation all up and down Tony’s body. “Looks like part of you is enjoyin’ it, leastways.” And Bucky flicked his gaze down to Tony’s cock, which was more than half hard. Aroused, but not yet urgent about it.

“All of me is enjoying it,” Tony said, though it still felt distinctly odd, but in a good way. “I like it, it feels...” He frowned, trying to put it into words. “Filling? That sounds weird.”

“Stuffed,” Bucky said, apparently agreeing with the assessment. “That’s what I always think. Stuffed full, that sort of… like a good meal and just… letting your body do its thing. Hang on a second, this might… stretch a bit.” Bucky pulled all the way out, and that left him feeling weirdly _empty_ and his hips chased the sensation for a moment without any conscious awareness on his part to move, and then-- more of the slick, wet stuff. Bucky rubbed two fingertips over his hole, and then, slow, almost methodical, he pushed both fingers inside Tony.

Tony’s breath caught and he couldn’t quite let it back out, the stretch becoming a mild burn, not quite painful, but teetering on the edge of it. “Oh, that’s... Fuck, that’s a lot,” he finally gasped, when his lungs refused to hold the air any longer. “Are you, uh. Sure? That I can... I mean, you’re...” Bigger than two fingers, he couldn’t quite say. If only two fingers felt like _this_ , how would he manage Bucky’s cock?

Bucky actually laughed, and that hurt for just a second before Tony realized that Bucky was _blushing_ and laughing, more at himself than Tony. “I promise, it ain’t _that_ big, no matter what you think, babydoll. Here, lift your leg a little, there, that’s it, see if that’s better, an’ just wait, once you relax a little more… then it gets real sweet.”

Tony moved his leg, and shifted it again, and Bucky’s fingers in him just kept _pushing_ at him, even though Bucky wasn’t moving much at all, but it was strange and stretching and-- Tony closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. He’d been through so much worse, and this was, this would feel good, soon. Bucky had said so, and he trusted Bucky’s word, and he wanted to make Bucky feel good, too. With a quiver and a jolt, his body suddenly _let go_ , and that stretch didn’t burn anymore, and that nice _full_ sensation was back. Tony let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah, okay, that’s better, that’s... that’s good.”

“There ya go, yeah, that’s… ahhh, look what I found,” Bucky said, and it was playful and teasing, and then-- something that Bucky touched, deep inside him, responded. Like he had when Bucky stroked his cock for the first time, or the feel of Bucky’s tongue and lips on his nipple. But more, so much more, almost too much more. Pleasure and a sudden, inescapable pulse of desire. “There, that’s nice, right?”

Tony’s eyes had flown wide and he stared at Bucky in shock. “What-- Oh shit, do that again!”

“Yep, that’s the whole plan, doll,” Bucky said, and he worked his fingers inside Tony’s body, pressure and light, brushing sensations that seemed to go straight from Bucky’s fingers, through his balls and right up his dick. “Sometimes, feels so good, you can come just from this. Others, you need a hand to help you along. Which I ain’t got one t’spare at the moment. You can rub it, if you need to, but if you come again, we’re done for the night. I ain’t aimin’ to make you so sore you can’t get out of bed.”

Tony considered that and decided to keep his hand off his dick for now; it felt _so_ good, but he still wanted to see Bucky come. Wanted to be the _reason_ Bucky came. “Later,” he said, and his voice came out breathy, a little hoarse. “Bucky, I want, I want you. Please.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s uh. You know what, let’s swap places, okay? I only for th’ one hand and I don’t want to squash you,” Bucky said. “And uh, you can control the pace, if you’re on top. You don’t have to go any faster than you want, and you can get off as soon as you need to. Okay? Just… gonna take you for a ride. And, you’ll uh, you’ll want more slick. Put it on me, so that’ll… yeah, just like that, oh--” Bucky’s voice spiraled up as they moved around and Tony put a hand on him.

It was even more awkward like this, Tony balanced on top of Bucky’s body, trying to lower himself onto a cock he couldn’t see, that seemed determined to slide away from him every time he tried to push down and back. He finally braced both hands on Bucky’s shoulders and curled his toes into the sheets, and Bucky reached down to steady himself and then-- oh, that _burned_ , and Tony bit his lip hard, looking up at the ceiling and widening his eyes so they wouldn’t tear up.

 _Just like before,_ he reminded himself _, just have to relax, just have to let it go._ Thinking about it did not seem to be helping.

Bucky was probably getting impatient, his own pleasure so close at hand. Tony took a couple of shallow breaths and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tony--” Bucky said, voice soft and easy, as if he wasn’t teetering on the edge of anything. “Hey… you’re okay. We’re good, baby, so good. You don’t gotta go any further, if you don’t want, if it’s too much. We can try again later, or never again. Hey, come on, look at me a minute, yeah?”

Tony managed to look down, and Bucky was looking back up, expression patient and gentle and... and _concerned_ , like he was actually more worried about Tony’s enjoyment than his own. It hit like a blow to the chest, only warm and reassuring instead of cold and painful.

 _So not like a blow to the chest at all,_ Tony thought, and hiccupped out a startled laugh. “Sorry,” he managed, and giggled again, helplessly. “I just, it’s...” Another spate of laughter, until he had curled down against Bucky’s chest, unable to stop.

“Nah, I get it. Sex is pretty damn ridiculous,” Bucky said, “an’ here I am, an arm down and not really able t’ help you. Like to sit you right down on my damn dick, I swear to you, I would.” Bucky nuzzled at the top of Tony’s head, breath sifting through the hairs to tickle at his scalp. “It’s okay, really. First time I did it, came all over the girl’s thigh and ‘bout burst into tears, thinkin’ she was gonna hate me forever. She didn’t; she showed me what to do to get her off, an’ it didn’t involve my dick at all.” Bucky wiggled two fingers at him, making a gesture that both meant nothing and seemed to say everything at the same time.

If Tony didn’t know much about sex with another man, he knew even less about sex with a woman. He managed to get his giggling under control, but didn’t move for a moment, just breathing, feeling the heat radiating off Bucky’s skin and enjoying the closeness. He thought... Maybe, possibly, it had done him some good. He felt a little easier, a little calmer, now. “I want to try again,” he said.

He lifted his head and kissed Bucky, melting into it, trying to show how grateful he was for this, for Bucky’s patience and guidance and for making this so, so unbearably sweet. And, yes, awkward, but that seemed okay, too, like the sort of small flaw that made a handmade item more precious than a perfect machined one.

Holding that thought, cradling it close to himself, Tony sat up again and found his angle, and _pushed_. And there was that stretch, again, but the burn wasn’t so bad, more of an ache, really, like stretching a tight muscle.

Tony sank down farther, feeling Bucky’s thickness filling him, until he realized there was nowhere else to go; he’d taken it all in.

“--oh, _god_ ,” Bucky said, short, glottal, voice straining. His whole body was shaking under Tony’s, skin rippling with gooseflesh, and he rolled his hips once, pushing Tony up. He opened his eyes, wide, staring, like he was seeing something precious and perfect, dear and adored. “Yeah, that’s… that’s exactly right, baby. You’re doin’ it.”

And that _look_ , god, what Tony wouldn’t do for that look. He braced his hands on Bucky’s shoulders again, and started moving, slowly. Lifting up and pushing back down, shifting the angle slightly, testing. Somewhere in there, his body gave in to the intrusion, gave way, and even the ache faded into pure pleasure. “Oh god,” Tony groaned. “Bucky, that’s--”

“Jus’ right,” Bucky agreed. “You’re -- so _tight_ , Tony, I don’t think I’ve _ever,_ not like this, never like this. Want you, want you so bad--” Bucky was gasping, his hand opening and closing gently on Tony’s hip as he rolled up just as Tony came down, setting some rhythm in there somewhere, like the steady beat of a drum.

Tony tried to reply, _you’ve got me, I’m yours_ \-- but his throat wouldn’t push the sounds out, just a harsh groan as he rocked into Bucky’s rhythm, sensation overwhelming everything else. Another small shift and -- fuck, yes -- he’d found an angle that dragged Bucky’s cock against that place inside him, a little jolt of pleasure that only made everything light up, sweeter and better.

Gasping, he grabbed for his own dick, curling his hand around it and squeezing tight, stripping it mercilessly, chasing sensation toward the finish line, trying to hold out only long enough to pull Bucky over with him.

“There, yeah, there, honey, just like that, you-- oh, you’re so sweet, Tony,” Bucky was babbling, almost senseless, and between words, he was touching as much of Tony as he could reach. “Yeah, that’s… squeeze down, baby, can you do that for me, can you-- oh, oh!”

Tony tried to do what Bucky asked. He wasn’t sure if it actually worked, but Bucky threw his head back, jaw hanging open and throat working as he came, thick pulses inside Tony’s body. Tony closed his eyes and let himself tumble over the edge, too, spilling over his hand onto Bucky’s stomach. “Oh god,” he gasped. “Bucky... _god_.”

Bucky managed a weak chuckle as Tony practically fell on him. “That was so good, honey,” he said, absently patting Tony’s back and hip. “Now, here’s the not-fun part. I’mma pull out, and you’re gonna find out the hard way that body fluids go from warm and wet to freezin’ and sticky in about point zero two seconds.”

Tony lifted his head just enough to give Bucky a sad, betrayed look. “Why.”

“I didn’t design th’ system, love, I just work with what I got,” Bucky said. “Roll over, this side, an’ I’ll let the blanket cover you up. Get you a washcloth and clean up a bit. Layin’ in the wet spot is not recommended.”

Tony grumbled, but did as Bucky suggested. He pulled the pillow over his head when Bucky got out of bed to get the washcloth. “I don’t want to get up,” he complained.[]

Bucky brought over a damp washcloth and gently cleaned Tony up, wiping away sweat and semen with a few quick motions. He spread a dry towel over the wet spot to cover it and then climbed back in, bringing his insane body heat with him. “You don’t gotta,” he said. “This is my bed, you c’n stay in it s’long as you want.”

Tony grabbed onto Bucky and snuggled into that warmth with possibly aggressive fervor. “Pretty sure our boss is going to have something to say about that, at some point.”

Bucky pulled the blanket up and nearly over their heads. “She’ll be sleepin’ it off a while,” Bucky pointed out. “We can lounge around most of th’ day, at least.” He nuzzled at Tony’s ear, kissed his jaw. “It’s good, we’re good here--” Bucky blinked a few times, his lashes closing slowly, and he drifted off to sleep.

Tony dozed for a while, but he’d never really slept much, and he was still sort of processing... everything. So eventually he sat up, leaning back against the wall where he could watch Bucky and the door, and pulled up the ‘net connection that his ident allowed. He had an arm to design, after all, assuming he could get his hands on some decent materials.

Which meant he was deep into schematics and engineering better joint solutions when Val slammed the door open. “Boys, we--”

She stopped dead, staring at Tony, her eyes moving from his crazy, sticking up hair, across his shoulders which might possibly have had bite marks on them, to Bucky, still mostly asleep and curled up with his head pillowed on Tony’s thigh.

“Really?” she asked, blinking. “One day. You couldn’t make it one day?”

Tony reached down and lightly brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, feeling a fond smile tugging at his lips. “No, I don’t think we could.”

 


End file.
